


Restrained

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor follows even unsatisfying orders.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	Restrained

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Connor senses it coming and closes his eyes. It’s just in time—Hank’s release splatters across his body, shooting up over his stomach and painting his chest, flecking across his chin and even on his face, more landing there as Hank crawls higher up his body and pumps it out. Connor opens his mouth before he even realizes what he’s doing, and he catches a glob on his tongue, unable to taste and not needing to analyzing. He’s already processed Hank’s seed a dozen times. He couldn’t explain why he takes it in his mouth again without needing to be told. He hears Hank groan above him. There’s a slick squelching noise as Hank furiously works his hand across his cock. Something wet and spongy presses against Connor’s chin, and Connor dares to squint one eye open. The flood seems to be over. But Hank’s still breathing hard and sweating. He wipes his dick off on Connor’s jaw before the climbs off of Connor and plops down against the headboard. 

Connor remains where he is, sprawled evenly across Hank’s bed. The covers are still pulled tight from when Connor made it in the morning. In Connor’s peripherals, he can see Hank lounging in the pillows, and Hank’s aged, disheveled body shouldn’t turn him on. But it does.

Connor’s anatomically accurate. His crotch could pass for any organic human’s. His cock currently juts straight up into the air, his balls heavy and tight, ready to make a mess if his owner orders it. He’s completely hard. His sexually programming is nowhere near as advanced as the models sold exclusively for _sex_ , but even rudimentary training is enough. He’s fully aroused and near completion. His dick still shimmers from lube, spread by Hank’s hand and Hank’s tight inner walls. It would be so easy for Connor to come like his partner. 

But Hank’s orders still stand. And Connor was told to obey Hank. The red lines cloud his vision and form a solid wall above him, reading in clear block text: _Don’t Come_.

Connor stares at it without blinking. He asks, “Lieutenant—”

“Jesus Christ, Connor. We’re in bed, for fuck’s sake. I think you can call me Hank.”

Connor obediently repeats, “Hank. I would like to come.”

“Don’t.”

It isn’t like Hank to deny him. Hank has always made such a big deal about everything being _mutual_. He always lets Connor kiss him back. Lets Connor hold him. He even lets Connor stay the night now. It’s absurd that Connor can’t have his own release. He shuts his eyes because the red is blinding and the urge to pound away at it and break through is too strong. 

Connor steels himself over. If he was human, he’d be sharply inhaling and tensing his body. Instead, he takes physical control of his autonomic functions, _willing_ his stimulated arousal to recede. He forces his cock to soften, holds his semen back, makes the algorithms in his mind feigning lust unwind and dissipate. His pebbled nipples even sink. He hears Hank’s breath hitch and knows Hank’s watching his naked body lose its supple flush. 

When he opens his eyes again, Hank’s frowning down at him. Hank actually looks _disappointed._ Connor reports, “I did not come.”

“Dumbass,” Hank mutters. He slinks off the bed and heads towards the washroom, grunting under his breath, “You were supposed to do it anyway.”

Only Hank would scold him for being obedient. Connor hopes that someday, he’ll understand.


End file.
